“Hey pretty girl,” murmured Robin, lifting her onto his lap. As Mathilde watched, he grew wholly absorbed in fondling the cat’s ears and whispering to her.
“Men. So easily distracted by the female of the species,” said Helga with a wry chuckle.
Mathilde leant forward. “Please continue with your advice, Granny,” she whispered. “I am listening.”
Helga gave a considering nod. She reached down and ran her fingers lightly over the other stones where they lay. “Each time you water the dried up seeds of his affections,” she carried on in a low voice. “Fresh shoots will burst forth.” She gave a short laugh. “He will not be able to help himself. Already…where all was shriveled, near-deadened, now is pulsing with sap.” Something about the old woman’s words made Mathilde’s cheeks redden. She was glad Rob was not listening. Old Helga shot her a keen, assessing look. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked, screwing up her eyes.
Was she? Mathilde bit her lip. “I am,” she said raising her chin. After all, everyone knew fortune favored the bold. The trouble was, practically everyone she knew thought her timorous in the extreme. “I am twice a widow,” she bluffed, “and no child.”
Old Helga angled her head as if sharply assessing her words. She was watching her closely. “Twice widowed…” she repeated, as if trying out the words on her tongue and finding them puzzling. With a frown she reached down and quickly gathered the stones, throwing down them again. Mathilde held her breath. “You do not lie in word,” the old woman agreed, “yet they are twisted in meaning.” She shot a knowing look at Mathilde, who flushed scarlet. Helga’s gaze narrowed. “You have traveled a long way…” she mused thoughtfully. “And I do not speak of distance.” She screwed up her eyes. “The traveler has been tested,” she said dreamily. “Through many trials and learned many things.”
“I have,” Mathilde agreed earnestly. “I have learned many, many things. How to whittle, swear an oath, swagger like a boy—”
“Those lessons will not help you now, child,” said Helga dismissively. “You need to learn some new tricks, and fast.”
Mathilde’s face fell and she darted a quick glance at Robin who was now playing with the cat and a piece of string. “Can you teach me, Granny?” she asked humbly.
The old woman shook her head. “I took another path, and know nothing of such things. But perhaps I can help point the way,” she mused, tapping her chin. She sat up straight and then held her hands palm out to her sides, muttering under her breath. Mathilde craned her ears, but still could not make out the words which sounded guttural and coarse on the old woman’s tongue. “Fetch me that sack from the corner,” she said suddenly, and the change of tone was so abrupt it was almost startling.
Helga pointed and Mathilde obediently climbed to her feet, and retrieved a dusty hessian sack from the corner. It had something in it from its weight, although it was not heavy by any means. She handed it obediently to the old woman, who reached inside and pulled out a book. All the animals in the circle turned to look with interest, but none of them looked as astonished by the appearance of the leather bound volume as Helga herself. She stared at it as if she had never even seen one before. Then she shrugged, and handed it to Mathilde.
“Thank you,” Mathilde said politely, though in truth it felt a little anticlimactic. She turned the book over in her hands. In the murky interior she could not make out the words contained in its pages. “I’m sure it will be very instructive.”
“Buggered if I know,” said Old Helga dismissively. “I never read one.”
XII
“What did she give you?” asked Rob curiously as they made their way back to the lodge. Mathilde had surreptitiously stolen a look at the title page as soon as they had left Helga’s cottage.
“It’s a copy of The Tales of Sir Maurency of Jorde,” said Mathilde brightly, trying to hide her disappointment.
Robin blew a raspberry. “That book’s dull as ditchwater!” he hooted, swishing at the trees with yet another imaginary sword he’d picked up on the way home.
“It’s very popular at court,” Mathilde argued, which was true enough. Her own Nurse had read it to her several times. It was also very worthy with its tales of chivalry and virtue. Wrack her brains as she might, she could think of no lesson in its pages that could teach her on how to secure her husband’s affections. Unless, she thought doubtfully, she was supposed to read it to him as a bedtime story?
“Well,” said Rob judiciously. “We can’t say she robbed us, for we gave her no coin.”
“I’m sure she gave me very sterling advice,” Mathilde insisted stubbornly. “I just need to reread this, and I’m sure it will make more sense in light of what she said.”
Rob made another rude noise, and Mathilde ignored him, going over the thrilling words that Old Helga had uttered about Lord Martindale. “Each time you water the dried up seeds of his affections, fresh shoots will burst forth.” Her heart thudded at the idea that she, Mathilde could achieve such a result. Could she truly earn the love of her husband, as she yearned to? She clasped the book tight in her hands. Oh, how she longed to do so! If he would only turn to her, she vowed she would be the very best wife all the kingdom! If only, she thought with niggling uncertainty, she knew exactly what men wanted from their wives.
In her mind’s eye she flitted through the various couples she knew of at court. The king and queen, she thought biting on her lip, were the most famous examples, but in truth, she had seen little sign of genuine affection between them. They spoke each other fair of course, but she had only seem them in public life. Behind closed doors for all she knew, they might act completely differently. Her own parents had always been scrupulously polite and courteous to each other. She could never remember an occasion where she had seen them embrace or even raise their voices at one another. She frowned. Somehow, she felt convinced that was not how she would encouraged fresh shoots to grow from Lord Martindale’s heart.
Then another image flashed into her mind. Her dear friend Fenella with her husband, Earl Vawdrey. They acted very differently to the other couples she knew. Indeed, before Fenella had come to court, Mathilde had been convinced that Oswald Vawdrey was a very sinister and terrifying personage indeed. Of course, his reputation as the king’s spymaster preceded him, and she had been frightened of her own shadow in those days, so practically everyone she came across had been an object of fear. But Earl Vawdrey, with his thin smile and cold eyes had truly brought her out in a cold sweat. And yet… And yet, thought Mathilde slowly, he was very different with his wife.
At the royal banquets, Mathide had seen Oswald Vawdrey touch his wife’s hand, had seen him feed Fenella from his own plate. Mathilde had tried not to stare of course, that would be rude, but it was fascinating to see how they were with each other. When they conversed, you could be in no doubt that Fenella had his undivided attention. When Fen crossed a room, his eye instinctively followed her.
Mathilde had once, in the queen’s audience chamber, seen Earl Vawdrey reach across and fleetingly touch his wife’s cheek. The look on his face showed he had not been able to stop the impulse, despite their surroundings. Mathilde had caught her breath to see that private moment when their eyes had met. Seeing them together, she could be in no doubt that what was between them was an accord, an intimate bond which was sacred and true.
Mathilde had known instinctively that such a thing was very rare. She had never dared hope something like that could ever lay in store for her. At best, she had hoped her husband would allow her the role of wife at his side. Other than their union being blessed with a child, she had not raised her hopes further than that. But Helga’s words had hinted at something more. That Lord Martindale could grow fond of her. She pressed one hand to her hammering heart. If she could carry on being brave, maybe, just maybe she could win something more precious than mere acceptance from her husband. The thought made her feel quite giddy with longing. But to be a wife, she needed new tricks Helga had sa
id. She puzzled a moment, wondering where she could pick them up.
Feeling a few flakes of snow, she glanced up at the sky, wondering if Lord Martindale would come for supper tonight. She had not seen him in four days. Should she try and send word to him? She could always send a message back with one of the many deliveries he had sent to the lodge. They seemed to be daily occurrences at the moment.
“We’re being followed,” said Robin suddenly.
“Pardon?” Mathilde swung ’round and saw the little cat trailing after them. When she saw she had been spotted, she sat down on her bottom and started licking her paw, as if she had not been slinking in their footsteps at all. “Now she’s ignoring us,” she observed. “Pretending it’s a coincidence.”
“Why don’t we take her back with us to the lodge?” suggested Rob excitedly.
“This morning you wanted a cow,” Mathilde reminded him. “I did not realize you were so very fond of animals.”
Robin shrugged. “Neither did I. But she is a very superior sort of cat,” he said wistfully.
Mathilde scrutinized the cat, but to her it looked to be a very ordinary sort of tabby, not so very different to the many palace mousers except perhaps smaller. “You seem determined to accumulate a menagerie these days,” she commented. “She is a witch’s cat, though and belongs to Old Helga.”
“She followed us for a reason,” Rob insisted. “Perhaps she’s tired of spells and potions. I could tell Prudence I saw a mouse in the pantry,” he mused. “I bet she’d beg me to get a cat then.”
“Very likely,” she agreed absently and they both lapsed into their own thoughts again. Rob kept casting satisfied glances over his shoulder, so she guessed the tabby still followed. It seemed to take them a lot longer to get home than it had taken them to get there. They must have taken a wrong turn or two, Mathilde suspected as they finally emerged from the trees. “Thank goodness,” she breathed, finally catching sight of the lodge. “I can’t feel my feet.”
“We’ve got visitors,” said Rob, as the cat suddenly ran into the clearing and took a running jump into his arms. “Clever girl,” he crooned, immediately absorbed in soothing the cat.
Mathilde turned her head and saw the horses poking their heads out of the shed. “Oh!” she squeaked and ran forward. “Oh Rob, look! It’s my horse! My very own dear horse!” Not waiting to hear his reply, she hurtled forward, very nearly losing her footing as she flung her arms around the neck of the horse that had got her arrested. As he rubbed his face against her, and pushed his velvety nose into her hood, Mathilde promptly burst into noisy tears.
XIII
Where the hells was she? It was starting to snow again, and the servant Prudence had no bloody ideas on the subject. They had been waiting now for well over an hour now. Guy paced restlessly across the floor. What if she’s decided to run off again? The maid swore she hadn’t gone far, but where was the wench? Maybe she had already received orders for her return. Or she’d taken umbrage at being left neglected for so long?
“Perhaps we should come back tomorrow, my lord?” suggested Temur. “She’s likely gone to visit with a friend or some such thing…” He trailed off lamely, catching sight of the angry look Guy cast his way.
“She knows no one around these parts, apart from myself,” he retorted acidly. Guy was just debating setting out to look for her himself, when out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement outside the window. Turning quickly, he caught sight of her launching her small figure to hang around the old nag’s neck. “There she is,” he said with suppressed fury, heading for the door and ignoring his overwhelming sense of relief at her reappearance. Instead, he stoked his righteous indignation as he hurried down the stairs and wrenched open the front door.
“My lord,” Temur cautioned behind him, hurrying in his wake. “Now don’t say aught you’ll regret, if you don’t want to frighten the lass!”
Guy ignored him, striding out into the snow, his expression grim. She was going to have to learn to fear him, if it meant her staying where it was warm and dry and not catching her death of cold! Just then, she turned her face toward him, almost stopping him in his tracks. Her eyes were streaming, her face swollen and red. He checked midstride, pausing a moment before closing the distance between them. “What’s happened?” he burst out in concern, and to his surprise, he found he moderated his angry tone without conscious thought. “Are you hurt?” He cast an eye over her, but could see nothing obvious.
She shook her head, her face screwing up again and fresh tears spilling over. “What is it?” But she only pressed her face into the horse’s nose and hugged him tighter. Her slim shoulders shook with sobs, and torn between frustration and alarm, Guy stooped down and plucked her up in his arms. She pressed her fists into her eyes, openly bawling now. Guy shot a look at Robin, who looked completely unconcerned, brushed past them and headed toward the lodge. Uncertain of his cue, Guy followed him into the house, walking straight past Temur who was waiting at the door, open-mouthed.
“I told you not to upset her,” Temur muttered, shaking his head. Guy cast a quelling look his way and started up the stairs, still carrying Mathilde in his arms. To his astonishment, halfway up the staircase, she twisted in his grasp, and flung her arms around his neck. He very nearly dropped her.
“Is it your ankle?” he asked in gruff bewilderment. “Did you fall in the snow?”
She made no reply, only buried her face in his chest and huffed there a minute as Guy made his way into the upstairs sitting room, making straight for the wooden bench next to the fire. When he moved to set her down, she made a dissenting sound, so instead he lowered himself gingerly onto the cushions, with her on his lap. He was too worried about any possible harm she’d done to herself to think about Temur gawking at him from the doorway. Reaching to unfasten her cloak, he carefully untangled it from her, running his hands up and over her arms, checking for any possible breaks or injuries. She sat quietly, letting him ease off her boots and dispose of her cloak over the back of the chair, sniffling and swiping at her eyes.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
She took a series of deep breaths, calming herself. “We went for a walk,” she said in a wobbly voice.
“Yes?” He fought to keep his tone calm.
“And then … And then…” Her face crumpled again, and she sobbed aloud.
“Then what?” Guy barked in alarm. He heard Temur tut in disapproval behind him, but forced himself not to react.
“Then I saw D-Destrian,” she said brokenly, and peered up at him through tear-filled eyes.
“Who?” Guy asked sharply.
“My horse,” she whispered tremulously. “You brought me my horse!” The look of devout gratitude she sent him made his mind go blank. “I’m so h-happy!” she wailed and collapsed again onto his chest. He froze to the spot, feeling a damp spot grow across his tunic. Casting an agonized look of confusion over the top of her head, he saw the door softly closing. Temur had made himself scarce. Guy had no idea where the boy Robin had gone. What was he supposed to do? The tears showed no sign of abating. If this was how she behaved when she was happy, what the hells did she do when she was sad?
Gingerly he placed a hand on her middle back and patted her gently. “There, there now,” he ventured. She drew in a shuddering breath. “All will be well,” he said, wishing he didn’t sound so uncertain himself. She exhaled noisily, and peeped up at him through watery, red-rimmed eyes. “Feeling better?” he ventured.
She hiccupped. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I just feel so relieved that we’re reunited.” She smiled at him and Guy stared. She was talking about the horse, he reminded himself savagely, not him. There was absolutely no reason for him to have this strange breathless feeling in his chest. But she said you had made her happy, a stunned voice in his head pointed out. No one had ever said such a thing to him before, much less thought it! Even at this very moment, she sat in his lap as naturally as if she belonged there. Guy waited, dry-mouthed for her
to spring from him in horror, realizing her position, but instead if anything, she leaned further into him. “I’m tired and cold,” she confided shyly. “I think we got a bit lost on the way back.”
Instead of scolding her roundly for her reckless behavior, Guy found himself rubbing her upper arms. “You stayed out too long,” he said, but even to his own ears, his rebuke lacked the sternness it should have. What is happening? She nodded and crowded further into him, with a soft whimper that scrambled his brain. Guy felt his throat go dry. Suddenly, he felt very aware of the fact he had a scrap of soft femininity pressing against him in all sorts of dangerous places. His mouth was dry.
“I should put some more logs on the fire,” he said huskily, putting her bodily from him before he embarrassed them both. For a moment, he thought she looked disappointed, but that couldn’t be right. He rose up off the chair and approaching the fireplace, threw on four or five logs and turned back to find her watching him. There was not a shadow of calculation in those hazel eyes, he thought. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost have imagined they were roaming over him with maidenly admiration. Her eyelashes trembled and she glanced away. Her face was already so red from crying that he could not tell if she blushed or not.
He cleared his throat. “You should eat something. You’re likely hungry. Then perhaps a bath and early to bed.”
“Will you stay?” she asked eagerly. Then she must have caught something in his expression, for she added hurriedly. “For a meal, I mean.”
He knew he was in trouble, when he felt the wild disappointment that flooded him at her words. He only hoped his expression did not reflect it. “Of course,” he said woodenly, with a shrug. “If you wish it.”
“Oh, I do!” Her face was shining and earnest now. It made him think of that other occasion. When she had said she wanted his baby above all things.
Wed By Proxy (Brides of Karadok Book 1) Page 10
